<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>A Girl and Her Wolf by DFRetha (ichaelis)</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30028833">A Girl and Her Wolf</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ichaelis/pseuds/DFRetha'>DFRetha (ichaelis)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Celtic-inspired fantasy, Fae &amp; Fairies, Fae Magic, Fantasy, Gaelic-inspired language</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 23:47:06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,341</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30028833</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ichaelis/pseuds/DFRetha</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When fifteen-year old Raeghan followed the buck into the thicket, her only thought was killing the beast to fill her siblings' bellies for the winter. But instead of taking a life, she spares one when she stumbles upon a massive wolf caught in a magical snare. </p><p>The wolf is, in truth, a Fae named Kiernan of Elfhame. Though infamously known for their cunning, malice and treachery, Raeghan enters into a pact with the beautiful Faerie: Kiernan now owes Raeghan a life in return for saving his. He swears to help her if ever she has need of him.</p><p>And need of him she will have when Raeghan soon finds herself embroiled in a secret war between two worlds.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A Girl and Her Wolf</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>In the fog-shrouded silence of the early morning forest, the crunch of old sticks beneath Raeghan's boot echoed like a crack of thunder over the treetops, sending the bleary-eyed buck she’d had her bow trained on sprinting further into the frosted thicket. </p><p>Lowering her longbow, Raeghan swore crudely, cursing her own foolishness. She'd had the perfect shot. </p><p>Above, a crow hawked from its perch, seeming very much to be laughing at her.</p><p>“Buzz off,” she muttered, reaching for a fist-sized stone by her feet. She threw it with expert precision into the tree, making the branch rattle and shake loose snow. The crow, madly squawking, leapt several branches higher. It followed her with beady eyes, ruffling its pitch black feathers impudently.</p><p>Raeghan exhaled slowly, her warm breath forming a cloud of icy mist. </p><p>The buck had been massive, with fatty flanks and a shaggy brown coat covered in little balls of ice. It could have easily fed and clothed them the whole winter.</p><p>Raeghan, resolved to find the buck no matter what, followed the tracks left in the snow. </p><p>She knew she wasn’t supposed to be here. This was Blackwood Forest. It belonged to Lord Malcolm Ros, the high lord they called the Red Stallion, both for the four rampant red horses on his House’s sigil and for his skill in the lists. Of course, Raeghan had never seen the man ride, for there were no tourneys held in Blackwood Meadows, nor had she interest in watching even if there were. But Thom was obsessed with battles, knights and tourneys. He knew the names of every important knight in the land, plus the names of some not-so important ones.</p><p>If Lord Ros caught her out here, she would be blinded or hanged for poaching – or worse. But no one had seen her slip into the forest. Thom liked to call her “the Spectre” because she moved without sound. Most of the time.</p><p>Besides, she had seen a fawn, four stags, and plenty of rabbits running through the brush – she’d shot four of the brown hares already and fastened them to her leather belt. There was more than enough game in the forest; Lord Ros wouldn’t miss one buck, surely.</p><p>Raeghan wasn't a strong tracker, but she knew the basics. Besides, she'd startled the beast so terribly that its prints were clear in the fresh snow, heading north into the early morning mist. She clutched her bow in one hand, reaching for strong branches with her other for support, and followed the tracks, climbing over bloated roots, bushes covered in spiny brambles that clung to her roughspun breeches, and fallen logs fuzzy with flowery lichen and moss.</p><p>She stepped through a narrow tangle of pine trees, careful not to catch her long, black braid in the needles. There was a tuft of soft, brown fur clinging to a branch nearer the bottom on the other side. The buck had come this way, likely not realizing how narrow the space was. </p><p>A frightened bleat erupted from the fog, followed immediately by the bone-chilling snap of teeth. The leaves trembled and a hazy shape emerged from the brush: a flash of brown and white. Raeghan shrieked and barely had time to leap to one side before the buck sprinted by, horns thrust forward. She tumbled into the thorny bushes, her boot sliding on the icy leaves with a painful snap. The soil was loose there, and sloughed off the face of the ridge. The momentum sent her over the edge, pitching head over heels into the tree trunks below. The impact knocked the breath from her lungs. Branches clawed her face, frozen stones bit into her hands, her knees. She tasted blood on her tongue and felt the crunch of pebbles between her teeth. A pointed stick stabbed the calloused flesh of her palm, sharp as a spear. Finally, she skittered to a stop, tangled in the folds of her woolen cloak.</p><p>For some time, Raeghan lay where she was, catching her breath. She stared straight ahead at a copse of birch, pondering why there were more red needles sprouting round the base of the trees’ trunks than high on the branches. Finally it started to make sense: she was seeing things from the inverse perspective. That wasn’t snow. That was the cloudy morning sky. And what she thought was sky was fresh snow.</p><p>Gently, Raeghan rolled onto her side, her muscles screaming. The base of her skull throbbed and she raised two fingers to touch it lightly. They came back covered in red, sticky blood, clotted with bits of leaves, needles, and fragments of rock. Her vision suddenly swam and she vomited.</p><p>Every inch of her hurt. But she hadn’t shattered her leg or her spine. Good . . . She’d take her victories wherever she could.</p><p>A low snarl erupted from somewhere in the mist, seemingly everywhere and nowhere all at once. She slowly reached for her bow, pressing her teeth firmly together so that she would not scream. But she felt naught but the cold, wet bite of snow. <em>Where . . . ?</em></p><p>Panic rose into Raeghan’s throat and, beneath her breast, her heart was racing. She had lost her bow in the fall. She felt for her hunting knife, but it was four inches of rusted steel, better for skinning rabbits than fighting off wolves. </p><p>A pair of copper eyes flashed in the hazy light, and a massive silhouette crept forth from the fog, head low, muscles tense, all covered in thick, black fur.</p><p>Raeghan had seen wolves before. Sometimes they strayed too close to town, brazen enough to try for the farmers’ sheep, but they were chased off or slain without much trouble. Other times, they would follow her on her hunts from several strides back, certain she would lead them to prey. She could normally scare them off with a rock or two, but sometimes they lingered, so she was forced to leave whatever she’d shot for them.</p><p>But this beast was easily three times larger than the biggest head males. His lips pulled back, slaver steaming from his teeth. He stepped closer, haunches flexed, preparing to leap. Raeghan’s bowels turned to water.</p><p>Raeghan was never particularly pious. It was hard to believe in the Gods when they took everything without ever giving something in return. But, nevertheless, she prayed. <em>Don’t let this be it . . . Please! I’m only fifteen. I’ve never ridden a horse. I’ve never seen the world beyond Blackwood Meadows. I’ve never even kissed a boy.</em></p><p>With a bark, he closed in on her in three long strides. Frantically, she fumbled for something – a rock, a stick, <em>anything!</em> As her fingers found the edge of something cold and hard and smooth, the Wolf barreled into her like a battering ram, five-hundred pounds of fur, muscle and snapping teeth. There was a sudden tug and a strangled whimper, and Raeghan was flat on her back once more. Pain stabbed through her, so terrible she wept. And now, something warm and wet soaked through her tunic.</p><p><em>Blood</em>, she thought. <em>He’s torn me open neck to navel. When I open my eyes, I’ll see my own entrails steaming. </em>She wouldn’t look. There was no point in looking. Best pretend to be someplace else, someplace far from here.</p><p>She waited. She thought it would hurt more. She thought she would feel the burn of flaying skin, the cold stab of teeth and tongue and claw as he shoved his muzzle into the soft, warm flesh of her belly.</p><p>Cautiously, she cracked her eye open. The beast towered over her. The warm wetness slowly spreading over her torso wasn’t blood; it was the Wolf’s frothing saliva. His nostrils flared, inhaling loose strands of Raeghan’s hair. He shook his massive black head, snorting, and backed off.</p><p>It made no sense. The Wolf ought to have killed her. He certainly meant to.</p><p>He snarled and snuffed and started to pace warily, bronze eyes boring into her. Something caught the light, something buried in the Wolf’s black fur. <em>A snare!</em> The Gods had heard her prayers, it seemed.</p><p>Clutching thick, coiled roots for support, Raeghan slowly found her feet. The ridge slanted steeply above her and faded into the mist on both sides. She could see where she’d tumbled over the bluff, carving fissures in the mud. Simply looking made everything hurt more.</p><p>She could follow the cliffs north or south and hope that there was a shallower slope to climb. But there was no telling where it might flatten out, if it even would. And every step sent torrents of white hot pain shooting through her limbs. Tears blurred her vision. How was she to find her way home <em>now</em>?</p><p>She wondered if Thom had noticed that she was not there. No . . . Probably not. He worked in the forge with Master Owyn. He was far too busy hammering steel into plate to notice that she wasn’t chasing chickens, mending shirts, or pulling weeds from the cabbage patch.</p><p>The Wolf growled impatiently. The snare stopped him venturing far. If he pulled, he risked strangling himself. So he’d taken to prowling round a patch of icy mulch and thorny bushes, marking his territory with his scent. A bear lay nearby, little more than heaps of coarse fur and bones licked clean; the beast had eaten well.</p><p>He stared with his piercing eyes. Then he sat back on his haunches, howling pitifully.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>He shook his large head side-to-side, making the sharp tether that bound him hiss. <em>Release me . . . </em>he seemed to be saying.</p><p>“No.” She would be mad to release such a creature. He’d only spared her life because he hadn’t enough slack. The moment she stepped close enough she was like to be his supper.</p><p>“<em>Free me from this trap. In return, I shall help you. You are injured and cannot climb. But free me, and I can carry you.</em>”</p><p>A chill swept across her neck and shoulders. His mouth wasn’t moving. The only sounds he made were growls and howls and whines. But his voice was clear inside her head, smooth and melodious.</p><p><em>Gods . . . He’s talking!</em> Raeghan realized. She was going mad, she thought. She’d broken her head in the fall. Now, she was hearing voices. Worse, she was responding to them.</p><p>“You’ll kill me,” she objected. “You meant to kill me before.”</p><p>He rolled his shoulders. “<em>That was . . . ill-advised to be sure. I will confess that I was frightened. In my panic I mistook you for someone else. Forgive me.</em>”</p><p>She made no move to help him. But neither could she forsake him. He looked so pitiful, sitting there, blood clotting his fur.</p><p>“<em>My name is Kiernan,</em>” said the Wolf. “<em>I’m one of the Aes Sídhe from Elfhame.</em>”</p><p>“A faerie . . . ” Faeries were even worse than wolves. Beasts were beasts, compelled by instinct. But faeries were beautiful, exceedingly intelligent and malicious creatures, fond of schemes and treachery. It was said that they liked to make pacts with foolish humans, though never without consequence.</p><p>Now Kiernan was offering to make a pact with her: to free him in return for his help. She considered his words carefully. Faeries could not lie, not outright, though they were clever of tongue, twisting words for their own purposes.</p><p>“How will you help me?” Raeghan wondered.</p><p>Kiernan raised his snout, pointing to the top of the ridge, well hidden in the mist. “<em>You fell from there, yes? You cannot climb as you are; you can hardly walk. And there is nothing lower to climb for leagues north or south. You can sit and wait for rescue, but there is no telling when it may come – if ever.</em> <em>Once free, however, I can carry you.</em>”</p><p>“Carry me how? In your belly, perhaps?”</p><p>“<em>Are humans always so stupid?</em>” He snorted. “<em>No . . . On my back.</em>”</p><p>“And what will you ask for in return?”</p><p>“<em>Is my life not enough?</em>” Kiernan replied.</p><p>She shifted her weight from one foot to her other, but it hurt so she stopped. Kiernan was right. She hurt too much to climb or walk. And even if Thom realized she was in trouble, he’d never know where to look. She wasn’t even sure where she was.</p><p>“<em>I’m not one to beg. But if I have to I will . . .</em>” A high-pitched whimper rumbled through his throat. “<em>Please . . .</em>”</p><p>It was so tempting. But there had to be something she was missing, something that he was not saying.</p><p>Several long minutes passed. Eventually, seeing that there was no other option, Raeghan sighed through her nose. “Fine.”</p><p>As she took a small step closer, favouring her left leg which hurt less than her right, she felt like there was a swarm of butterflies fluttering inside her belly, clawing their way into her throat to escape. Kiernan watched her with his piercing eyes, shimmering like two bronze coins in the faint light. His nostrils flared slightly, catching the fear on her scent.</p><p>“<em>Are you frightened, </em>Laenabh<em>?</em>”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“<em>Don’t be.</em> <em>I swear by the Gods that I shan’t harm you.</em>”</p><p>Despite his promise, she kept expecting him to pounce once she was in range, springing forth like a big, black shadow.  But he sat ever still, his tail lashing lazily in the snow.</p><p>Raeghan stepped into the circle he’d marked out with his nervous stalking. The snare was huge – it had to be to catch such a beast. But who had set the trap? Raeghan remembered that this was Lord Ros’s wood. He must have set the snare to catch the Wolf. But why? Did he know that he was a faerie?</p><p>She pressed her face into his neck, searching for the end of the thick wire in the black forest of hair. It wasn’t easy to find; the snare was buried deep, his fur matted with blood and mangled flesh. It was sharp too, cutting her fingertips to bloody ribbons.</p><p>He whimpered as she worked, each time it sunk further into his muscle. She slid her hunting knife between skin and snare, and attempted to cut the noose straight through. But the metal was finely made; thick, castle-forged steel.</p><p>Raeghan stepped back, her lungs burning from the effort. Her palms were slick with blood – hers and his. “I’m sorry. It’s too hard. I can’t cut it off.”</p><p>“<em>Use</em> Ban-Rìgh. <em>It will cut through anything</em>,” Kiernan said, his wolven breath pluming. Even in her head, she could hear the exhaustion in his voice.</p><p>She wiped her hands in her woolen breeches. Her fingertips pulsated with each shallow beat of her heart. “What’s <em>Ban-Rìgh</em>?”</p><p>“<em>Caranthir’s sword. It’s over there</em>.” He pointed with his nose to a blade half-hidden beneath frosted leaves and snow. Raeghan remembered the hard, smooth object she’d found right before Kiernan barreled into her. She’d thought it was a branch or a bone of some kind. She never would have imagined that it was Caranthir’s legendary sword.</p><p>Raeghan retrieved the fabled sword from where it lay. It was weighted, but lighter than she would have thought. <em>Ban-Rìgh</em> was near thirty inches of black, curved steel etched with magic runes on the broadside, glowing with a subtle purple radiance. The cross-guard was forged into flames, the hilt wrapped in strips of supple black leather. The weighted pommel was exquisitely fashioned into the head of a dragon, a perfectly polished ruby between its teeth.</p><p>Caranthir ab Eamon the Dragonknight was a King in the Age of Heroes. His blade, called “the Kingmaker”, was believed to be invulnerable, made from the metal of fallen stars. But it was said that the King’s royal tomb was callously looted two centuries past, his plate, shield and pair of swords long lost.</p><p>Carefully, so not to cut Kiernan in the process, she slid <em>Ban-Rìgh </em>beneath the snare. The sharp steel whipped back with a cold hiss, so fast that though it sliced her cheek open, she had not felt it before the blood bloomed like little red buds on her pale skin.</p><p>Kiernan wasted no time bounding free, thankful to be rid of that infernal trap. He loped several paces, then stopped, turning back to face her. He fixed his copper eyes on her, licking his teeth. <em>Does he mean to eat me after all?</em></p><p>He made his way back to her, ice splintering beneath his paws. He lowered his large head in submission. She stroked his muzzle slowly, feeling the magic rippling beneath his skin.</p><p>Closing her eyes, she buried her face in his soft black fur, breathing in his scent. She thought he would reek, the way Blackwood Meadows’s strays stunk, a sour stench of musk, sweat, and faeces. Instead, Kiernan smelled . . . nice. Otherworldly. She caught whiffs of cypress, fir, and pine, with hints of pomegranate. It was a calm, comforting smell. A smell that felt like home, though her home had never smelled half so sweet.</p><p>He nuzzled her in return, growling reverently, and caressed her cheek with his long, rough tongue, cleaning off the caked-on blood and frozen mud. Strokes more tender than expected of a beast his size.</p><p>Raeghan cradled his head in both hands, held his gaze and said, her voice barely louder than a whisper, “Bring me home.”</p><p>Kiernan knelt. With <em>Ban-Rìgh </em>hanging on her hip in its ornate, leather scabbard, she clambered onto his powerful back, swallowing the pain that shot through her. Then, like she weighed next to nothing, he scaled the near vertical cliffs, his legs tearing up gravel, snow and rimy soil.</p><p>Raeghan’s stomach heaved into her throat. The wind burned her lungs. She could hardly breathe, but she held on, clutching his fur tightly and pressing her thighs into his muscular flanks.</p><p>Kiernan’s paws made only the slightest sound as he raced through the trees, ripping through brambles and bushes, and around frosted trees like they were fields of pale wheat. He moved with a steady but exhilarating pace, pulling forward with both front legs first, then loping on his strong hind legs for sudden bursts of speed.</p><p>When the trees started thinning, Kiernan slowed to a trot. Finally, he stopped on the edge of the wood. Raeghan climbed off his back, her legs shaky and sore. A heavy, soothing heat washed over her, like warm bathwater, making the hairs on the back of her neck rise. <em>Magic . . .</em></p><p>There was a flash of bright light, like looking into the heart of the summer sun, a hiss, and the malodor of burning ozone. When it faded, Kiernan the Wolf had vanished. In his place stood a beautiful man with delicate ears narrowed to a point, wearing black hunting leathers beneath a crimson cloak lined with a black pelt. Broad-shouldered but slim, he looked to be five-and-twenty, but could have been five hundred. Long black hair fell over one shoulder like whorls of smoke, and framed his beautiful face – high brow and cheekbones sharp as knives, narrow nose, and eyes like two bronze coins, polished to a shine. His skin was like liquid moonlight, free of blemishes, save the fresh red slash circling his throat.</p><p>“Kiernan?”</p><p>The Fae man bowed his chin courteously. “My lady.”</p><p>“Raeghan,” she corrected him. “I’m not a lady.”</p><p>“Raeghan,” he repeated, his voice pleasant. Raeghan’s belly clenched painfully, a flush creeping over her neck. Kiernan looked towards Blackwood Meadows. “This is where I must leave you.”</p><p>But she found that she was not ready to part ways with him. “Where will you go?”</p><p>He fixed his cloak on his shoulder. “I must return to Elfhame. I must needs report back to my own King.”</p><p>“Will I see you again?”</p><p>“By cutting me free, you saved my life. Now I owe you a life in return.” He reached out to touch her lacerated cheek, his fingers warm and fragrant. She turned her cheek into his palm and closed her eyes, savouring his touch. “If you ever have need of me, say my name. Scream it or whisper it, or hold it silently in your heart. No matter where you are, I will hear it. And I will come for you.”</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>